


Turn the Page

by KitsuneArashi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas fic, First Kiss, Fluff, John Winchester's crappy parenting, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuneArashi/pseuds/KitsuneArashi
Summary: Dean was having a typical Christmas. Sad and lonely. 
Until, with one dog eared notebook, Castiel turns it all around.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. It's Christmas and this is what I wrote. 
> 
> Merry Christmas!

Christmas Day came much too fast for Dean’s liking. Sure, he was ready for it; he had taken Sammy out to pick up the tree last week and they’d decorated it together. He’d saved the meager money he’d made from shoveling the neighbors snow all month to be able to buy a ham and some potatoes for them to have a proper Christmas dinner. He’d sweet talked the old lady who worked at the liquor store into selling him some whiskey for his father’s gift and he’d spent all the rest of his hard earned cash on making sure Sammy had a modest pile of sloppily wrapped gifts beneath the tree as well as a stocking stuffed with candy because, even at 10 years old, Sam still deserved Santa. Dean could barely remember his own visits from Santa, it had been while his mother was still alive so he’d been 3. He sighed and flicked the lights off, throwing himself into bed, exhausted. 

Dean worked hard every year making sure Christmas was always good for Sammy, especially since John was rarely there, and when he was; he was usually drunk. Oftentimes when John Winchester was drunk he was angry and belligerent, on holidays though he was usually quiet and weepy and Dean wasn’t sure which he preferred, mostly he just breathed a little easier when he’d wake up Christmas morning and it was only Sammy and he in the house. 

He felt like he’d barely gotten to sleep when his bedroom door was slamming open with an echoing bang, the light flicking on to illuminate the drab room with it’s worn, mismatched furniture and haphazardly hung band posters, covering the holes his father would put in the drywall during his rages.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, excitedly leaping on Dean’s bed, all gangly limbs and hard edges. Dean grunted as he caught an elbow to the sternum. “It’s Christmas!”   


“Gerrofme,” Dean wheezed, weakly shoving at his brother while he fought to catch his breath.    
  
“Come _ on _ Dean!” Sam grabbed hold of his arm as he climbed back onto the floor, tugging Dean dangerously close to the edge of the bed.    
  
“I’m coming.” He huffed, hiding a pleased smile at the way his brother practically buzzed with excitement. “Dad here?”   
  
Dean wouldn’t admit it but he was a little bit relieved when Sam solemnly shook his head no.    
  
“Come on Dean!” Sam impatiently hopped from foot to foot, ready to run for the gifts under the tree the second Dean’s foot hit the floor. Dean dragged himself from bed, cringing against the cold air outside of his blankets.

He made a beeline for the coffee maker even as Sam planted himself at the foot of the tree with his stocking, retrieved from where it hung above the pitiful radiator, flicking the switch to turn it on in the hopes of taking the sharp bite of cold out of the air in the room.

“Well, hop to it Sammy.” Dean grinned across the counter at him, sipping his coffee. “Let’s see what you got.”   
  
Sam flashed him an excited smile and upended the stocking onto the floor crowing in victory at the stash of chocolate and candies that spilled out in front of him, already reaching forward to tear the wrapper off a snickers and stuff it into his mouth.    
  
“Alright, you gorge yourself on that there breakfast of champions while I prep the ham for later and then we’ll tackle the presents under the tree.” Dean winked and set the oven to preheat, enjoying the way it warmed the kitchen up while he started on making a glaze for the ham. 

Even at 14 Dean was pretty confident in his cooking abilities, thanks to years of being the one responsible for making sure his baby brother and drunken father actually ate something more substantial than toast and cereal, and made short work of peeling the potatoes and glazing the ham, putting the ham in the oven to slow roast before he settled on the couch to watch as Sam tore into his gifts with an elated smile.

As Sam flung himself onto the floor to play a game on his second-hand-but-new-to-him ps3, Dean took a moment to take the shredded wrapping paper outside and found himself on the front step with his head in his hands, sucking in shuddering breaths that misted in the cold air in front of him.

It wasn’t new for him to have nothing to open on Christmas Day, his last gift had been years ago, a worn copy of Slaughterhouse-Five, a book that had been much too old for him when he received it but that has been well read and well loved since the day John Winchester picked it up at a yard sale they’d been passing. It still stung though, every year when he didn’t have anything to open and no candy from Santa.    
  
Dean missed his mother and felt a renewed burst of grief when he realized that he wished she was here, that she took the best parts of his father with her when she died in that house fire. He sucked in a steadying breath as his eyes stung, trying in vain to cut off the tears before they could start.   
  
“Why are you crying?” A voice asked softly from in front of him, causing him to jump and snap his head up, scrubbing guiltily at his cheeks.    
  
“I’m not crying!” He burst out, narrowing his eyes on the boy in front of him. The boy was around his age and Dean knew that he lived across the road, on the ‘nice’ side of the street, his messy dark hair was in disarray as though he’d just rolled out of bed and hadn’t bothered with it, he wore a rumpled suit and a tan trench coat over the top, probably to keep the worst of the chill Kansas air from cutting through his clothing. “Men don’t cry.”    
  
The boy narrowed his eyes, a deep blue that reminded Dean of the night sky, “Says who?”   
  
“My dad.” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes and looking away, jaw clenched.

“I’m Castiel.” The boy said softly, changing the subject.    
  
Dean knew that already, Dean also knew that Castiel’s hair always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and that if he tried to tame the raven tresses that it actually got worse, he knew that Castiel had 4 brothers and a sister but that he only got along with his eldest brother Gabriel who moved out last year and his twin, Jimmy. Dean knew that Castiel’s family was religious but that Castiel dragged his feet every Sunday when they all left for church, he knew that Castiel has lived there since before the Winchesters settled here 3 years ago. Dean knew that Castiel’s favorite subject was English and that he loved bees and that he would sit in his yard for hours every summer, just watching them. All he said, however, was “I’m Dean.”   
  
Castiel smiled suddenly and met his eye before turning away with a red flush rising in his cheeks. “I know.” He hesitated, biting at his lip in what Dean knew was a sign that he was nervous. “I-- I have a gift for you.” He gulped suddenly and dove his hand into his pocket, tugging out a dog eared notebook and thrusting it into Dean’s hands before standing back and worrying his lip between his teeth, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

Dean grabbed for it on instinct but his mind was stuck on the fact that Castiel knew his name,  _ Castiel Novak _ , the boy who turned Dean’s entire world on it’s head and who he’d been pining over since they first time he saw him when he was 11 years old,  _ knew his name _ . Castiel’s face grew redder and he motioned for Dean to open the book, still refusing to meet Dean’s eye.   
  
“Because it’s Christmas…” Castiel trailed off and cleared his throat, wringing his hands, “and at Christmas you tell the truth.”    
  
Dean dragged his eyes away from the boy in front of him, focusing instead on the leather bound notebook on his lap. He cautiously opened to the first page and sucked in a surprised breath, it was a hand drawn picture of his dad’s car, perfectly sketched in excruciating detail, right down to the small dent on the fender that John never bothered to repair. Castiel swallowed and stared at his hands.

Dean turned the page. The next picture was of his house, the windows dark and empty but for his bedroom where the light spilled out and made the whole, sorry building look more welcoming than he’d ever seen it.

Dean turned the page and dropped the book to the porch in shock. The next picture was of him, every freckle, every eyelash, drawn in loving detail. Castiel fidgeted and Dean noticed that the other boy’s breath was coming in short bursts, the misting of each hesitant breath giving him away at how unevenly his pants were coming.   
  
Dean picked up the notebook and turned the page. Again and again, every picture was of him. His hands, his lips, his eyes, his face drawn over and over from every angle. He snapped his eyes up to meet Castiel’s, mouth open to speak without even knowing what he was going to say. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

Whatever Castiel had expected to hear, that wasn’t it and he jerked his head, mouth dropping open as he tried to formulate a response. “Uh… yeah. I mostly draw at home.”    
  
Dean was nearing the end of the book, but before he could turn to the last page Castiel shot his hand out, stopping him from turning to see the final picture. “I… uh… please. If you don’t like it, just give it back, so I still--” he gulped and waved his hands helplessly. “Just, please give it back if you don’t like it, I don’t care what else you do to me.”   
  
Dean stared at Castiel’s hand where it lay on top of his, an electric jolt running through him at the contact. “What I do to you?” He echoed in confusion. “What do you think I’d do to you?”   
  
Castiel swallowed and pulled his hand away, holding it close to his chest as he sucked in air, breaths growing more panicked as he did. “Just... get it over with.” He begged, flapping his other hand towards the book.   
  
Dean turned the page. The last image stretched over two pages and Dean gaped down at it, heat rising to his cheeks as he took it in. On the left page was himself, dressed in his usual ratty jeans and flannel shirt, hair in disarray with his face flushed. On the right page was Castiel, beautiful even on paper with their hand’s linked between them, bodies close enough to suggest they’d just pulled apart after being pressed together, or that they’re leaning in to press themselves together.

“Cas.” The longer Dean stared at the picture the more details he could see, they’d definitely just pulled apart, Castiel’s exquisitely drawn lips were puffy and Dean’s drawn face had his lips pulled up in a smirk. Ahead of him Castiel made a strangled noise and grabbed for the notebook in a panic.    
  
“I’m sorry!” He burst out, avoiding Dean’s gaze and turning to flee back to his house across the road. “Please just-- I’m sorry.”

“What?” It took Dean a moment to realize what was happening and he moved fast, leaping to his feet and catching Castiel’s hand in a firm grip. He could feel Castiel shaking, terrified, as he roughly tugged him back towards himself. “Why are you sorry?” He asked, voice harsher than he wanted and he felt guilty when Castiel tugged against him, cringing back.    
  
“I--” Castiel stammered, eyes darting everywhere but at Dean.   
  
“Cas!” Dean snapped, reaching up with his other hand to cup Castiel’s face gently, ignoring the way the boy flinched back from him. “Look at me.”   
  
Castiel looked. This close Dean could feel his breath fanning warm across his face, he could see the way the pink of Castiel’s cheeks spread across towards his ears, he could see the way that Castiel’s eyes followed the quick movement of his tongue as he licked his suddenly dry lips, the way that Castiel echoed the motion and wet his own lips, pink tongue snaking out and back in a motion that was almost automatic. “Dean.” He whispered into the silence between them.

Dean kissed him. Just a light grazing of lips, the contact so brief that he might of imagined it but for the way Castiel squeaked in surprise before surging forward and crushing their lips together again, hard enough that Dean felt like his lips would bruise but he didn’t care, he flicked his tongue out to skate across the seam of Castiel’s mouth and a small sigh escaped when he opened willingly, allowing Dean in to explore his mouth with his tongue, pulling him closer until they were pressed together, the cold around them forgotten as they kissed.

“Don’t be sorry.” Dean gasped out when they pulled apart, foreheads resting against each other so they could suck in air. “Holy shit Cas. Best Christmas ever.”   
  
Castiel huffed a small laugh and closed his eyes, sure they’d need to talk and figure things out between them, but Dean was certainly the best Christmas gift he ever had.


End file.
